How do I get?
How do I get to sleep?
Please let me sleep?
Poetry, that'll work

Come, sweet slumber
Enshroud me in thy purple cloak
Hmm, doesn't even rhyme

It has been a while since I have been up and/or wide awake at four in the morning.

Six hours of sleep.

Yet, I feel fine. How I’ll feel later on remains to be seen, but for now…

When did six hours of sleep become… enough? Is it?

Overall, I think I’m in a good place. I am not depending on pancakes to handle bouts of insomnia.

Yet, occasionally…

I have been talking with someone new. She is fucking lovely. Seven weeks in, and we’re still talking. That may be a new record for me.

And when I don’t think too much, it’s glorious. It’s like we’ve known each other forever.

It may be safe to say, that any madness is coming from within my own head. How do I put my ego to sleep? Forever.

After all, if she didn’t like me, she wouldn’t still be here.

What i'm listening to:

Paranoimia
Art of Noise
Re-Works of Art of Noise

I want to read. Or write about how life isn’t fair, or about my recent trip. Or write to some friends who may be able to guide me through my current internal battle, before I screw it up with this girl I’m talking to. Or watch girls in bikinis race snowmobiles on a 10º day to raise money against breast cancer. Or watch the (Mis)Adventures of Hank Moody for the thousandth time. Or see and spend time with my Dutch treat.

Indeed, it’s been a long time since I’ve chosen not to take an audience. And to sit with a wet towel wrapped around my eyes. Wondering what, if anything, I can take.

And it’s been even longer since I’ve experienced snow blindness. I believe it was in high school. Either skiing, or snowmobiling. And it is miserable.

All I want. Is to sit. With my eyes closed. Forever.

And I still see, what appears to be headlights approaching from behind. Nothing but shadows thrown in front of me.

Protect your eyes, kids.

Who would ever have thought I’d use these blindfolds on myself?

What i'm listening to:

Seasons Change
Exposé
Exposure

Life truly is remarkable.

There is so much beauty out there.

To admire.

To take in.

To plug in to.

Incredible. Simply incredible.

Today is the day.

I suppose it’s only natural to have a lot to process over this. To feel numb. To mourn.

Mourn what, exactly?

The end of a colossally bad decision? One that ultimately proves the last seventeen years never happened?

At some point, I may want to talk about it. Even sooner, I suspect, I’ll want to celebrate freedom.

Freedom from the shithole.

The shithole I ultimately had to pay someone to take.

Good riddance.

Take a day to mourn. Bask in the comforts of strangers. Celebrate. And move on.

In a week, it’ll feel like today was the best day… regardless of how it feels today.

The world is still here… even though primitive human emotions still hold sway over rational thought.

What i'm listening to:

I Have Nothing
Whitney Houston
The Bodyguard

You broke my heart. In an instant. When you asked. For cinnamon rolls. To go with your chili.

You’re so beautiful, but it’s not going to work.

Bill: So-crates — “The only true wisdom consists in knowing that you know nothing."

Ted: That's us, dude.

I am back.

Out of necessity.

Writing is one thing I do for no one else. No one, but me.

Perhaps I write to keep myself sane.

Yet, do I need to “publish” it? No, I don’t NEED to.

I am more likely to, however, if I keep the journals in this platform.

If I drop my MacBook? The entries are safe. If I misplace my written journal? The entries are safe.

If I forget to pay my internet bill? Well…

That may be the price of sanity.

So, I’ll continue to write. About nothing. Or something.

And burden my handful of readers. And bots.

You’re welcome.

The habit [of indulging in uninvited expression of opinions] creates enemies and places in their hands dangerous weapons by which they may do great injury to the one who indulges in it.

As many of my friends know, I’ve been doing a lot of reading over the last several years. And a few of them know I’ve done a bit of writing as well.

Yet, as I’ve lamented before, I mostly write about nothing. I’m not an influencer. I may be a headcase. I tend to wax emo over lost loves. And lovelies.

And it’s all unsolicited opinions. Opinions that may, or may not have much basis in reality. Note, I said reality and not fact. The more enlightened I get, the more I realize even facts are subjective. And these “facts” are the devil’s tools.

No adult human being ever loses the right to freedom of thought, but most humans lose the benefits of this privilege either by neglect or because it has been taken away from them by their parents or religious instructors before the age of understanding.

My latest reading, frankly, scared the hell out of me. Figuratively, of course. I’m still convinced that’s where I am heading.

It has also spotlighted just how critical finding a definiteness of purpose is. It’s no wonder that I tend to flounder as much as I do. I set less-than-lofty goals, then celebrate when I hit them. Yet, there’s still a world out there. A world of wealth. Of power. Of adventure. Of women.

Certain things just happen when you make no plans
And love can really tear you up and it can break you down
Everything you think you know baby
Is wrong

Or is there? Hill also pointed out why I cannot connect with any of them. Yes, I like these girls. But yes, they’re also bad for me. Especially her.

Damn. The more I learn, the less I know.

And I can’t stop thinking about her.

If I could I would
I’d change everything
Cause I can’t forget you though you don’t believe me
Now I can’t walk back
I can’t leave behind
Where does it go all the light that we had?

Anyway, I think this is an ideal opportunity to write less.

Well, maybe not write less, but blog less. Hardly anyone finds this blog, and even fewer read it. I haven’t invited anyone to read it in years.

Yet, it is still out there. A testament to a glimmer of neediness I possess.

A penlight in a field of stars, begging for attention.

And my journal sits—neglected. And I fail to commit to invitations. Even those that I know will be good for me. Perhaps, because I feel unworthy.

Perhaps.

Have some fun! Yes, sleep when you feel like it, not when you think you should. Eat food that is bad for you—at least once in a while. Have conversations with people whose clothes are not color coordinated. Make love in a hammock! Life is the ultimate experience, and you have to live it to write about it.

So, it’s time to take another detour. To have some fun. To play with new people. Make new friends. Bed new lovers.

If the thrill is gone, then it’s time to take it back.

To find my thrill. Then, perhaps I can return to this space. When I have something to say. Or when I become an influencer.

What i'm listening to:

It’s All Over But the Crying
Garbage
Bleed Like Me

Ten years from now, you’ll put on a jacket and find a mask in the pocket.

“Oh, man, what a weird year that was,” you’ll chuckle to yourself.

Then, you’ll pick up your machete and continue across the wasteland, keeping to the shadows to avoid the roving gangs of cannibal raiders.

Shamelessly stolen, of course. But funny... or is it?

You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.

I don’t trust you anyway.